The Whitmore Foundation headquarters was everything New York was known for — tall glass walls, shining marble floors, and people who looked like they never slept.

When Amara stepped inside, the lobby buzzed with quiet excitement. Staff whispered her name as she passed. Her reputation had arrived before she did.

“Mara Collins,” one of the curators said warmly, extending a hand. “It’s an honor to finally meet you in person. We’ve been following your work for years.”

Amara smiled politely, shaking his hand. “Thank you. I’m grateful for the opportunity.”

He led her through the building, pointing out the exhibition hall — a wide, open space with floor-to-ceiling windows that...